


Ghost of My Lover, Stay With Me Please

by TeaGirrl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Ending, Angst, Camelot, Coda, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post 5.13, Post Finale, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaGirrl/pseuds/TeaGirrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 5x13. Merlin uses the Horn of Cathbhadh to summon Arthur's spirit. He looks back as he leaves the Spirit World and Arthur's ghost is forced to roam the halls of Camelot. Merlin is unable to let him go, even though Arthur's presence is hurting them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost of My Lover, Stay With Me Please

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, this is probably the most angst I've ever written in one fic. But I really enjoyed it. And I hope you do too.

It is believed that the people we love never truly leave us when they die. They watch over us. They are always with us, even if we can’t see them. They are present in passing breezes and in the fleeting caresses across our cheeks that we fool ourselves into thinking were just our imagination.

But for the warlock residing at Camelot, hoping that his King might still be with him in such a distant and intangible way just isn’t enough anymore. He needs to _see_ him. Yes, it’s selfish. He knows what he’s condemning the ghost of his soul mate to. But the scent has disappeared from his pillow, his armor is covered in a thick layer of dust, and he can no longer remember his voice.

The warlock stands in the clearing close to the citadel of Camelot. It is the same clearing where he spoke to a dragon for the first time. This is where he stood in one of those rare moments when you suddenly feel like you know your own soul a little better – that moment when you see a little more clearly what you’re actually capable of.

He is clutching the Horn of Cathbhadh in his hand, staring up at the sky that is darkening by the minute, trying to guess which star represents his beloved. His Arthur.

He takes a deep breath, raising the carved horn to the Heavens, hoping the soul he wishes to reach will hear him, and presses the mouthpiece to his lips.

An eerie tone seems to echo within the atmosphere itself; the sound waves searching for the gateway to where Arthur is resting. Soon enough a bright light unfurls from thin air, blinding him momentarily. He doesn’t know what’s on the other side. He doesn’t know if it will hurt. He doesn’t know if Arthur will still be the same person he was when he died in Merlin’s arms all those years ago. But the thing that terrifies him the most is that he doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to turn his back on him.

Despite the worry and dread that is making his heart flutter and his stomach feel hollow, he walks toward the light, just as he saw Arthur do the day he was reunited with his father. He’s doing the brave thing, just like Arthur would have wanted him to do.

The light engulfs him, surrounds him. It makes his body feel heavier and red spots appear behind his closed eyes. It requires a great deal of effort to keep his feet moving, but soon enough the light that has swallowed him whole dissipates. He is left standing in a dark void.

Is this where Arthur has been all this time, in this endless space of nothingness? He’d hoped Heaven would have been more accommodating.

He calls out into the vastness around him, hoping Arthur will hear him.

It doesn’t take long before Merlin can sense something – some _one_ – stirring in the darkness in front of him. A gentle light appears up ahead, illuminating the shape of a figure walking towards him. The light frames a disarray of hair and broad shoulders; shoulders that Merlin has clad in fine silk and protective armor countless times.

“Arthur?” he whispers.

The light seems to shine brighter at the sound of his voice, letting him see the face that has both haunted and soothed him in his dreams. It is a face that has remained the same despite how much time has passed, just like Merlin’s own face.

“Merlin,” he sighs, sounding relieved, like he’s been holding his breath while waiting for Merlin to come for him.

And there’s his voice. Merlin commits it to memory, ordering his magic to capture the tone and the lilt for the future.

He looks exactly the same, though it saddens Merlin to realize that he has been remembering the shape of his lips wrong, and that he has forgotten the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

Merlin takes a hesitant step forward, his arm reaching out. His limbs feel so heavy. “Can I…?”

Arthur just laughs and it only takes two strides before he can grab Merlin’s arm and pull him towards him. He throws his arms around him and buries his face in the crook of Merlin’s neck. His hold is tight, desperate, and so is Merlin’s, as he wraps his arms around Arthur’s waist, his hands splayed across his back.

His body isn’t as warm as it used to be, and he has lost the part of him that smelled of fresh air and sweat, but the Arthur he’s clinging to is the same as the one who left him all those years ago. Out of the two, Merlin is the only one who has changed.

“God, how I’ve missed you,” Arthur murmurs, his voice muffled by Merlin’s skin.

“I’ve missed you more,” Merlin says, meaning for it to be light-hearted, but his voice is strained, trying not to waver.

“I’m sure you’ve been doing alright without me, despite being an idiot. You were always so strong.”

Merlin just shakes his head and holds Arthur even closer. Their chests are pressed together. Merlin can only feel one heartbeat.

“I’m not strong, not anymore. Camelot isn’t my home anymore. It hurts just _being_ there. Arthur, I haven’t been in your chambers in _years_. It is too hard.”

His voice is no longer controlled and his words are interrupted by hiccups that are making him sound hysteric.

“Shh, shh,” Arthur says, his hand settling at the back of Merlin’s neck, guiding his head to rest against his shoulder.

And this is when the tears that Merlin didn’t notice were welling up spill down his cheeks, staining Arthur’s tunic and making a lump form in his throat that makes the words that keep spilling from his lips sound hoarse and broken.

“I- I lost myself the day you died! I don’t know who I am without you!”

He takes a shaky breath and sniffles. “We were supposed to share a destiny.”

Arthur just rubs his back soothingly and presses soft kisses in Merlin’s hair, letting him empty the sorrow and anger he has stored in a place within him where he doesn’t dare venture anymore.

Arthur releases his hold and caresses Merlin’s jaw affectionately, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“You’re still the clumsy, useless, caring, loving man I left behind. You’re still the bravest man I know.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything. His tears are still trickling down his cheeks, wetting Arthur’s fingers.

“We fulfilled our destiny, Merlin. We brought peace.”

There are some days when Merlin isn’t sure if living in peace and prosperity is worth the price that had had to be paid: Arthur’s life. There are some days when he would rather live in constant fear of execution if it meant hearing Arthur’s footsteps in the corridors and getting to tuck him into bed. But he doesn’t tell Arthur this, for it is a selfish thought.

“You did good,” Arthur adds with a quirk of his lips, earning a half-hearted smile from Merlin.

Merlin reaches for Arthur’s hand at his jaw and entwines their fingers. He can’t help but ask: “Did it hurt?”

Arthur gives him a look of sympathy, as if to say _How can you still be worrying about that?_

He shakes his head. “Not much. Having you there made it easier; to say goodbye.”

Merlin suspects that he’s just saying this to reassure him. He’d seen how the shard in Arthur’s chest had slowly sucked the life out of him; how it had made his skin sickly pale and his body heavy; how it had forced his heart to still and his eyes to close. Even though Arthur died in the arms of the person who probably loved him the most, it cannot have been a peaceful death.  

“None of this has been easy,” Merlin says bitterly, recalling how raw the suffering had been when he’d eventually returned to Camelot after spending a fortnight at the shore of the lake.

“It _will_ get easier. Promise me that; that you’ll try to make living easier for yourself. I hate to see you like this.”  

Merlin only nods. He’s not sure if he can agree to the promise out loud. Not if it means moving on and – if worst comes to worst – forgetting.

“You must go. You may not feel it now, but this place is killing you slowly,” Arthur says, his thumb rubbing small circles on Merlin’s knuckles. And then Merlin notices just how much energy it takes just to lift his head to look at Arthur, how difficult it is to remain upright.

“This place is not for the living,” Arthur says mournfully, looking at their entwined hands.

As if on cue, Merlin feels his heartbeat become fainter for a moment, and he can’t help but wonder if Arthur felt the same when he started slipping away.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Merlin says regretfully. He wonders if he just stays here long enough, if he will truly die and be able to go with him. Perhaps his pulse is the price to pay to spend the rest of eternity by Arthur’s side.

“I’ll never leave you,” Arthur whispers, leaning in to brush their lips together. He can probably taste the salt from Merlin’s tears. “I promise,” he whispers against Merlin’s lips, before he captures Merlin’s mouth fully.

Merlin didn’t know a kiss could convey so much sadness and regret; regret that they did not do this sooner, when Arthur’s lips would have been warmer.

All too soon Arthur pulls away, silently urging Merlin to leave, to keep on living, to not surrender himself to Death just yet.

“Please don’t say goodbye,” Merlin begs, the taste of Arthur already fading from his tongue.

Arthur smiles, and Merlin thinks he can see something flicker in his lifeless eyes. “I didn’t say goodbye the first time. I’m not about to start now.”  

So there are no parting words. Just the press of Arthur’s lips to Merlin’s knuckles. It is heartfelt and honest and understated, just like last time.

The light that will lead him back to the real world - the world filled with real pain and the very _real_ feel of Arthur’s absence – appears behind him. It’s time. Arthur smiles at him one last time and watches him as he slowly turns his back on him. He takes a few steps, stopping when he can feel the chilling air the light is emanating on his skin. He takes a deep breath, convincing himself that this is for the better; that this will make Camelot his home again.

He turns his head a fraction before glancing over his shoulder, looking back at his king. Arthur’s smile disappears in an instant and his eyes widen as realization dawns on him. He lunges for him, his arm outstretched, but Merlin has already taken the last step into the light, to the place where Arthur will soon be joining him.

 

*      *      *

 

Merlin eventually succumbs to a fitful sleep. He is woken by every little creak, every imaginary stirring, thinking Arthur has finally arrived. Dawn could not come faster, and Merlin quickly gets dressed as soon as his room is illuminated by sunlight.

He has a hunch as to where Arthur will turn up. The stairs to Arthur’s chambers feel odd beneath his feet, like he’s navigating unknown terrain. This part of the castle has remained mostly untouched throughout the years following Arthur’s death. Only a chambermaid would occasionally venture through the silent corridors in search of fresh linen or as detour where she could rest her tired feet for a few minutes before continuing her duties.

Merlin almost knocks on the door before entering. It really has been too long.

The room is exactly as how he left it before following Arthur to Camlann. A goblet and pitcher is still on the table, the cupboards still contain his clothes, and his desk is still covered with papers and documents. But the ink on the quill has long since dried up and the entire room is covered in a layer of dust; a layer of neglect brought on by fragile hearts not being able to bear the sorrow of Arthur’s absence.

Merlin carefully closes the door behind him before calling out Arthur’s name timidly.

Nothing.

He walks further into the room, running his fingertips across the tabletop as he walks past it, leaving dust-free trails of wood in their wake.

“Arthur?” he calls out again, louder this time.

A gust of wind rushes through the room, ruffling his hair and the drapes around Arthur’s bed. The room suddenly feels colder. And now Merlin knows he’s there.

“Merlin,” he hears behind him.

Merlin whirls and sees Arthur leaning against the wall by the window with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at the courtyard below. He looks paler in the real world, almost translucent, and it may just be the trick of the light, but it’s almost as if he’s emanating a faint otherworldly glow. Merlin still thinks he’s beautiful.

Arthur doesn’t look up as he says, “Would you care to tell me what the hell you think you’re doing?” He speaks in a tone that Merlin has heard many times before. It is the tone his voice adopts when he is feigning patience and is moments away from telling Merlin off.

Merlin ignores his question. He’s just relieved to see his friend back where he belongs. “You’re back.”

His wide smile dims when Arthur finally turns to look at him and Merlin notices how sad he looks.

“I died, Merlin,” he says. All anger has disappeared from his voice. Now he just sounds tired and pained.

“And I brought you back,” Merlin says simply, making his way to Arthur’s side, where he belongs.

“I’m still dead.”

“But you’re home now, Sire. We can be together now.” Merlin reaches for Arthur’s hand but snatches them back as soon as their fingers touch. Arthur’s touch has seared Merlin’s flesh and blisters are already forming.

Merlin’s eyes widen in horror when he realizes that he can no longer touch or hug or kiss Arthur. Arthur just looks like he saw it all coming.

“I don’t belong here, Merlin,” he says, pushing himself from the wall and gliding past Merlin. His steps don’t make a noise and the air doesn’t stir when he moves.

“What are you talking about? Camelot is your home,” Merlin says, sounding apprehensive, worried that Arthur will decide to disappear into thin air.

“ _Was_ my home,” Arthur contradicts.

“Don’t talk like that,” Merlin pleads. Hearing Arthur speak in the past tense feels like twisting a knife in his gut. “It still can be,” he murmurs.

Arthur just shakes his head, his eyes closed. This is hurting him as much as it’s hurting Merlin.

“Please, just… Stay.” Merlin stands as close to him as he can without touching. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Do what?” Arthur asks, his eyes still closed.

Merlin hesitates before settling for the truth. “Live.”

At this Arthur looks up, and he looks surprised. Surely, Merlin thinks, he must have realized by now that Merlin can’t wake up in the morning knowing everything will be alright without having him by his side. He summoned him from the spirit world, for Christ sake, just to be able to have him around a little longer.

Arthur looks torn and the worry that he might still leave flourishes in Merlin’s chest. It was devastating enough the first time, when Arthur left him without meaning to. If he did it on purpose…

“Stay,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur’s lips quirk into a sad smile. “I can’t leave anyway, remember? Only you can send me away.”

Merlin had temporarily forgotten that it was he who held the power to decide when it was time for Arthur to depart. If Merlin had his way that time would never come. But knowing this doesn’t make him feel relief; not if it means keeping Arthur here against his will. Yet, his selfish side – the side that seems to have been doing most of the decision-making recently – can’t send Arthur away just yet. Because he knows that if he sends Arthur away this time, he’ll never have the courage to summon him again.

He just needs more _time_. He needs a few more precious moments, just to keep going.

Seeing that he doesn’t have a response, Arthur drifts past him, leaving a hole in his jacket where their shoulders touch. Merlin quickly turns; words that will hopefully make him stay at the tip of his tongue. But when he looks behind him, Arthur has disappeared. There isn’t even a disturbance in the air that suggests he was ever there in the first place.

 

*      *      *

 

He doesn’t see Arthur’s spirit for a few days, but that doesn’t stop him from regularly glancing over his shoulder and his eyes darting to every movement in the tapestries. Sometimes he is certain Arthur is standing right next to him but choosing to be invisible, so certain that he will occasionally whisper his name aloud, hoping it would force him to show himself. This only leads to the other servants thinking that Arthur’s former servant has finally succumbed to madness.

Arthur eventually makes his next appearance during a council meeting led by Leon. Merlin is forced to attend, despite not caring for diplomatic business one bit. They are all sitting around the Round Table. The empty spaces the battle at Camlann left had eventually been filled by other knights eager to prove themselves. The vacant seat Arthur had left behind was never filled even though another now bore his crown. Leon knew he could never take Arthur’s place and therefore never tried to do so.

Merlin notices something stirring in his peripheral vision and turns to see Arthur leaning against one of the many pillars holding the high cathedral-like ceiling aloft. He watches him make his way to stand behind Leon, his hands resting on the back of Leon’s chair. None of the other knights seem to notice. Only Merlin can see him.

Arthur shoots him a look and smirks, silently gesturing for Merlin to close his mouth, which he hadn’t noticed had fallen open in astonishment in seeing his king back at the Round Table.

Arthur just stands there, listening intently to what is being discussed. He isn’t wreaking havoc like Uther did all those years ago. He was never like his father.

Merlin has stopped paying attention. He keeps sneaking glances at Arthur, making sure he’s still there, hoping he’ll still be there when Leon dismisses them.

Merlin stifles a laugh as Arthur pretends to inspect the crown that is resting on Leon’s head, poking it with his finger. Apparently they had been discussing a terrible accident in the lower town and the knights look at him in confusion and disgust.

The meeting is eventually finished and Merlin stays behind, watching Arthur watch the knights leave the room in turn.

They remain silent for a few moments.

“I saw Gwen today,” Arthur says nonchalantly, but Merlin can hear the layer of hurt in his voice.

It had taken a few years, but Gwen had eventually remarried. Camelot needed an heir and Leon treated her with nothing but kindness and respect. He lets her make most of the decisions, acknowledging that she is the true ruler of Camelot. But most importantly, he knows that he will never be able to fill the void in Gwen’s heart that Arthur has left. He knows Gwen’s love for him will never be fierce and passionate. He knows they will never be sharing a bed unless it is strictly necessary, and he knows the people don’t see him as their King. He is just a source of comforting words when the longing becomes too much, and a voice of reason when that longing gets in the way of the fairness and diplomacy that is needed to rule a kingdom.  

“She seems happy,” he continues, scuffing the toe of his boot against the stone floor.

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin sighs. He pulls the sleeve of his robe over his hand before gently tilting Arthur’s chin up. Even though he doesn’t feel the burn right away, he knows his touch can’t linger for too long. “She’s aching on the inside. You know how much she loved you. Not a day goes by where she doesn’t wish you were by her side.”

Arthur smiles briefly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s still trying to be strong, even if he knows that Merlin will never see him as anything less. Merlin knows he stayed strong till the very end. “She’ll be okay again, someday. Leon’s a good man.”

He’s trying to convince himself.

Merlin hesitates before saying, “Do you think she might like to see you again? Just once?”

Arthur’s brows furrow and his lips pucker slightly; the expression he wore while debating which trail to follow in the woods while hunting, or which jacket to wear to a banquet. “No, no. I don’t want to put her through that. Gwen is the last person who deserves to be haunted by ghosts of the past.”  

 

*      *      * 

 

Merlin is busy de-dusting Arthur’s chambers. The windows are wide open and the curtains are drawn aside, a cool breeze ridding the room of the damp and stifling air that had existed for too long. Merlin is whistling and doesn’t notice a presence in the room until it speaks.

“Why don’t you use your magic for that?”

Merlin startles, stumbling as he spins around. He visibly relaxes when he sees it’s just Arthur and shoots him a relieved smile. “Habit, I guess,” he shrugs, still not really used to Arthur acknowledging his powers. His time of knowing and being alive had been too brief.

Arthur chuckles. “Why are you cleaning anyway?”

“I figured you’d be spending some time in here,” Merlin states casually, as if the answer is obvious.

Arthur’s laughter dies and his smile vanishes. Now he looks pained, like he’s about to confess to something that is slowly killing him from the inside out. Metaphorically, of course.

“I can’t stay in one place for too long, Merlin. I _have_ to keep moving.”

And if Merlin had been paying attention, he might have noticed how his love would disappear for several days at a time, leaving no traces, not even a lingering whisper of _I’ll be back soon_ in the corridors. Merlin had liked to think that Arthur was just out exploring; catching up on lost time, reuniting from a distance with people who had learned to cope with their grief. Now Merlin has to admit that maybe Arthur disappearing has more to do with his need to roam. Arthur’s spirit is restless in the world of the living. It makes the few times Merlin actually gets to spend time with him all the more precious.

“Oh,” is all Merlin says, rearranging the drapes by the four-poster bed. “Well, this place needed to be cleaned anyway.” His cheerfulness sounds false even to his own ears.

 

*       *      *

 

Merlin dashes through the corridors of the castle, popping his head in every room he runs past, calling out his name in the empty spaces. He is out of breath when he stands in front of the heavy double-doors of the throne room. The book is under his arm and he is holding it tightly, as it contains the solution he has been searching for the past week.  

He sticks his head through the door and is thrilled to see Arthur reclining in the lone chair that is standing on its pedestal towards the back of the room. He is sitting in it at an angle, one leg bent at the knee, his arm resting atop it. He seems to have shed some of the stiffness that has resided in his posture this past month. His eyes are distant, not looking at anything in particular.

“Arthur!” he exclaims, quickly rushing to stand in front of him. “I found it.”

A few heartbeats pass before Arthur speaks, his gaze still distant. “Found what?” Merlin was telling him about this just two days ago. Arthur was becoming forgetful as of late.

“The spell! The spell that will allow us to touch.” Merlin doesn’t let Arthur’s lack of immediate enthusiasm put a damper on his excitement. While trying to come up with a solution, Merlin has singed holes in the palms and fingertips of every pair of leather gloves he could get his hands on. He has forced Arthur to stand still for hours on end, stacks of books at hand, trying and failing to come up with a way for them to embrace in the way Merlin is longing for. These sessions would last for as long as Arthur could stand it, until he would apologize, his eyes glistening with unshed, ghostly tears, and leave the room, hoping the movement would help calm the restlessness within him.

Merlin gets down on his knees in front of the throne, willing Arthur to look at him. This is the first time he has knelt in this room. “This will work, Arthur. I know it will.”

Arthur finally looks at him. His face is emotionless, empty. “You think?”

“I do,” Merlin reassures him.

Arthur nods his consent and rises fluidly from the chair, stepping down to stand in front of Merlin. He spreads out his arms, tilting his chin back, inviting Merlin’s attempt at granting them the closeness real lovers should be allowed have.

Merlin puts the spell book down on the ground between them; quickly finding the page inked with the age old words that might be a blessing.

He takes a deep breath and raises his hands, his palms hovering inches from Arthur’s chest, before whispering words he has rehearsed, memorized and practically etched on his skin. Arthur closes his eyes and his jaw is set. Merlin’s eyes flash gold, he feels his power radiate from him, and Arthur’s body convulses, as if he’s been struck from behind. His shoulders eventually relax and his arms fall to his sides and his head lolls forward. His skin isn’t as pale as it usually is and Merlin is certain he can sense a thrum coming from Arthur’s body, as if Merlin’s magic is working away inside him, trying to reenact the signs of life.

Arthur opens his eyes and waits for Merlin to make the first move.

Merlin is timid as he brings his fingertips to Arthur’s neck in a touch that is barely there, just a whisper of a touch, really.

And nothing happens.

And Arthur’s skin is no longer cold. It is almost lukewarm.

They both look surprised. Merlin’s smile is joyous and Arthur’s is tender.

But there is nothing tender about the way his fingers grab a handful of Merlin’s hair, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. Merlin laughs against Arthur’s lips, happiness making him feel lighter than he can remember feeling since Arthur’s passing. His lips are warm. His tongue is soothing. This is _Arthur_. His arms wind around Arthur’s neck, his fingers clawing at his tunic, desperate for leverage, for skin that is no longer tainted by death.

“Why did we wait so long to do this?” Arthur breathes against Merlin’s lips.

“Obligations. Expectations. Customs. The usual,” Merlin quips, each word interrupted by a quick kiss or swipe of Arthur’s tongue.

“What were we thinking?” Arthur asks, a hand sliding beneath Merlin’s tunic and across his collarbones.

“Perhaps we weren’t thinking at all.”

Merlin grows dizzy. A dull pain is blooming in the back of his skull. His knees go weak. And at the same time, Arthur’s kisses become fierier, more permanent, more dangerous, and soon he can taste blood on his tongue. Arthur abruptly pulls back and looks horrified. His lips are smeared with blood. Merlin’s magic retreats from Arthur’s spirit. Merlin can feel Arthur’s destructive hands catch him and lay him down on the throne room floor as the darkness claims him, his magic returning to his soul, trying its best to keep him alive.

 

*      *      *

 

“It’s time, Merlin.”

“I won’t do it.”

“You’re fading, Merlin. I’m fading. I know I’m not myself anymore. I’m a ghost of the ghost I once was.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make a joke out of this.”

Silence.

“I can’t lose you again, Arthur. I won’t.”

“This time it’s time for me to leave. Me staying isn’t good for any of us. I don’t belong here anymore-“

“You belong with me!”

Arthur sighs.

“Can I just-“

“No! Stop that, Merlin! Don’t do the spell again! It’s draining you. It’s killing you.”

“I don’t care.”

“ _I_ care!”

Silence.

“Goodbye can’t be as hard as we make it out to be.”

“The thought of saying goodbye is what’s killing me. Not my magic.”

“Then how about we just make it a ‘see you later’? We’ll see each other again. I know we will. You sending me back won’t mean the end.”

Silence.

“Paraphrasing won’t make my heart ache any less to see you go. I can’t, Arthur. I just can’t.”

 

*      *      *

 

Merlin decides to send Arthur back many times over the coming years. It is in moments of pretend-clarity, when he thinks it’ll all be okay, that he decides it’s finally time to let him go. But then he falls asleep, and when he wakes up the fear of an existence without his king becomes stifling and impossible to overcome.

So Arthur is forced to linger. He watches the daughter that could have been his grow up in the same gardens and chambers as he did. She looks like Gwen. He is standing in the room when Leon draws his last breath and he listens to Gwen’s hitching sobs until just before dawn. He watches the princess’ coming of age ceremony and her first banquet. He watches Gwen’s hair fill with streaks of grey and the laugh lines on her face become more prominent. He stands next to Merlin when he nurses her during her final hours.

And he watches Merlin deteriorate as the years slip past them.

Merlin sees Arthur less and less. It has reached a point when he can only remain in a room for a few minutes before he suddenly vanishes. But Merlin knows if he waits for an hour or two, Arthur will return and begin the never-ending, aimless cycle all over again.

He doesn’t know exactly when the selfish part of him loosens his hold on him; when the larger part of him - the part that loves Arthur dearly - says that it’s time to do one last thing for Arthur. That perhaps it’s time to end his suffering.

He stops Arthur when he ends up in his chambers for the fourth time that day, saying that the time has come. The Horn of Cathbhadh is clasped in his hand.

Against his better judgment and Arthur’s threats, he performs the spell one last time, figuring he owes himself this, considering the heartache he’s about to put himself through.

They don’t kiss. They don’t hug. They merely clasp each other’s forearms. Their hold on one another is firm and final. It is an intimacy they have shared so many times in the past, Merlin likes to think it underlines the fact that this _isn’t_ a goodbye. It is only a ‘see you later’.

 


End file.
